


Of Unveiled Secrets

by Anonymous



Category: Black Jewels - Anne Bishop
Genre: F/M, Worldbuilding: Landen Response to the Witch Storm (Black Jewels), Worldbuilding: Post-Witch Storm Court Reconstruction (Black Jewels), a touch of smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-12
Updated: 2021-03-12
Packaged: 2021-03-14 15:46:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 14,387
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29048625
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: Isolated from the rest of Terreille in the aftermath of the Witch Storm, a small court must face down the legacies their old queen left behind.
Relationships: Original Black Widow Queen/Original Warlord Prince (Black Jewels)
Comments: 4
Kudos: 3
Collections: Five Figure Fanwork Exchange 2020





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [frozensea](https://archiveofourown.org/users/frozensea/gifts).



> With many thanks to [Gammarad](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gammarad/) for betaing.

#### Lirinne

* * *

The shutters slammed back against the window, shattered it to tiny fragments of glass that bounced against the opal shield inside. Lirinne reached out to where those pieces touched, her eyes straining for the details of space in the darkness. 

Wind roared outside, the building shook. She heard branches snap, the rush of water, and above it all the shadow of a storm that had blotted out any hints of the faint light there should have been.

She slammed her right hand against the wall; bit her lip as pain travelled up her fingers, ached through bone through and the snake-tooth hidden under one nail. The shutters cracked, wood splintering. Still the shield held.

“Let me out!” The storm did not listen. She smoothed her hands against the dark velvet of her dress, took a breath, then summoned a ball of witchlight.

It flickered, its light dampened by power far beyond her own. She turned to the door, which was solid oak with another shield upon it.

“Let me speak to the queen,” she said, raising her voice enough that the guard might hear her despite the howl of the wind.

“You’re not leaving unless she sends for you. Loucon left orders.” The guard sounded young, a warlord attempting to be stern. Someone assigned on the presumption she couldn’t escape.

It stung to know they’d been right.

She curled her right hand into a ball, the pain such a small counterpoint to the growing force of the storm. Whatever had made it was a far darker magic than anything a witch who wore Purple Dusk could muster, Black Widow or no. Already she could feel it fraying at the threads of her woven webs, the illusions that were all that had kept her alive this far.

“You can hear the storm. She’ll want me—just let me help.”

“I’m not taking you out in that.” His voice wavered. 

She slammed her hand against the wall, the left one this time, then turned back toward the window, or what remained of. Her witchlight was fading. The wind brushed over her skin, almost caressed, as if tasting what small power she bore, unraveling the illusions tied around her.

A scream outside the door, then silence. The witchlight faded.

And Lirinne felt every thread connected to her snap.

#### Theldrin

* * *

“There’s something wrong,” Theldrin said, leaning back against the quivering wall. “We should go, for the court will need both its queens.”

The witch across from him pouted, her expression shadowed by witchlight, her body bare save for the glint of color from her jewels. “No. You’re supposed to be here acting obedient until one of the mainland queens agrees to take you, which means you have to listen to me about the guests.” She ran her fingers across his chest, then used them to lift his chin as he forced down a snarl, a shudder, anything that might betray him.

She pressed the thumb and forefinger of her other hand together, the gesture another reminder of the Ring of Obedience around his cock. It left his body as bare as hers and yet in no way equal. “Isn’t this the third time your parents have sent you here to be reminded of such things? Loucon is almost starting to get used to you.”

“It’s the second time, Esmyh.” He sat up straighter, felt the slow pool of power around them, so strong as to be unknown or unknowable. From the bed he couldn’t see the window, see anything save the room and a too-deep darkness. “And I’ll listen if you tell me quickly.”

He held himself stiffly against the surge of his pride, the sense that still, still insisted a Green-Jeweled Warlord Prince should not be in such a position. Was his honor worth this? Worth anything after if he did not? He couldn't even pretend to himself that this place hadn't dulled his edges both more than he'd hoped and less than he'd feared.

Esmyh dropped her hand back down to her side. “Well, her cousin is a province queen, and she’s—” A wind that was not wind swept into the room on a wave of power. Surrounded them with night deeper than darkness.

He summoned his jewels in an instant, shielded first Esmyh and then himself. Both shields evaporated as soon as they were made, dismissed with too little thought to even be contempt. Whatever the wind was washed over him, dissipated in an instant with no more than that touch.

It took him a moment to realize he wasn’t the one screaming. Another to summon witchlight to fill the room.

Esmyh still sat across from him, almost untouched save for her shattered jewels, all the light and power sputtered out in no more than a second. She did not look up.

He froze. The Ring of Obedience remained silent.

His clothes were strewn onto the floor, simple black pants and a white shirt in an untidy mess. It didn’t matter. He slipped them on and buttoned the shirt up enough to hide his jewels. Then he looked back to Esmyh. It wasn't just her jewels, for it felt as if some other part of her was gone. A certain weight, a presence.

She no longer felt like a queen.

But she was alive, so he could worry about the rest of it later.

The first sound he heard once he stepped into the hall was sobbing. Not from one source, but from many, from the room across from him to the dining rooms near the base of the great stairs.

He thanked the Darkness for his freedom and hoped he’d not have cause to regret it.

Then he stalked out through the back door, past flowerbeds stripped of leaves and petals, roses turned to mere thorns. The building that housed the servants looked no less battered, though he’d seen less of its state before. For he’d only gone there at the summons of his aunt’s Black Widow, at the woman who-no, he couldn’t imagine anyone with her light Jewels could cause this.

And he especially didn’t wish to imagine it of Lirinne.

*Theldrin,* a voice said to him on a Summer-sky thread. Recognizing it pulled some of the tension from Theldrin’s posture. Rensyr had watched over these houses in spring, fall and winter for decades, and the Prince had never been keen to prod at Theldrin’s bonds in the same way the other Blood had, those who’d to improve their status at his expense.

*Theldrin, should I assemble the men? The storm—the river has cut us off and your aunt is gone.* Rensyr again, and more urgently. 

Theldrin sent back a stern thought on the same thread. *Yes. I’ll find Lirinne. Send someone to watch Esmyh.* Better if neither of them dwelled overmuch on Rensyr deferring to him. 

It was an emergency. And if the river had cut them off, then the Winds would be too dangerous, even communication with anyone across the water unlikely.

He reached out for the threads of other minds and found them few. Elis was gone, perhaps dissipated from the very cupboard beside the kitchen which he’d used to bother the staff. Others were faint or unsure, as if the storm had disrupted their very sense of self along with their jewels.

He stepped into the servant’s house in reflex, not letting himself focus on the broken glass or torn cloth, the furniture jolted loose, or the cook weeping into her hands.

When he saw the listing door, he ran. Fell to his knees in the small room and stared down at the body before him. Her hair had fallen over her dress, black against the brown velvet, and one hand was hidden beneath her. 

He shielded himself before he reached out to touch her, some instinct of fear encouraging such around a Black Widow. Or perhaps it was merely the fear of the storm. But he found her warm, breathing, and somewhat dazed as she opened her eyes to look up at him.

*Rensyr,* he sent back across their mental thread. *She’s alive. Do we still have a healer?*

*Aliris is on her way.*

That would help, at least. One reliable witch to take care of the matter, whatever that might entail.

“I didn’t do this,” Lirinne said, as if guessing his thoughts. 

“I know you’ve not the strength.” And yet, even as he said that he sensed a new strength from her, the reverse of what Esmyh had felt like. “Did you see any of this coming?”

She shook her head, and dragged herself into a seated position. He could feel the strength in her grip, the heat of her touch.

“This, no. I—” she paused to stare into his eyes. “Report. What’s the situation, and how many did we lose, if you haven’t left?”

“We’re cut off from the north. The Winds are perilous again, and I’m told the bridge over the river is gone,” he said in answer. After a moment’s consideration he summoned a ball of witchlight to illuminate the room, revealing the shattered wood and scattered straw, the hollows beneath Lirinne’s hazel eyes. “And Rensyr is still here, along with some of the Warlords and Aliris. Esmyh has lost her Jewels, but my aunt is gone.”

He almost hated himself for agreeing with how Lirinne slumped in relief at those last words.

She looked back to the tangled, snapped mess of thread upon the table. “The storm blocked out anything I might have seen, but Loucon was due to arrive at the house tomorrow afternoon. If the bridge is gone, he’ll reach there by mid-morning.”

“He was her Master of the Guard, he’ll consider himself in charge with no queens remaining. Not that Esmyh would have ever said no to him, not so long as he still wears the Green.” Theldrin pressed his fingers together as if to crush all his frustrations between them. And perhaps Loucon as well. It wasn't as if the older Warlord had spared much sympathy for those who wore the Ring. Theldrin could at least hope Loucon had been left exposed when the storm hit.“If he survived, then seven males won’t be enough to argue with him. Maybe the Southern courts will—”

“They’d take you,” Lirinne said, interrupting. “And Rensyr at the least, but he wouldn’t go. Nor will I. The landen here are—they were—I don’t want to leave them to Loucon.”

He’d not thought of that. Lirinne having been taken in by the landen village when she was a child was a story from before his time here. Nor one the Blood discussed often, for reasons he'd then presumed to be simple disinterest. 

None of which mattered if without a Queen. And so he felt a surge of anger spread through his body like warmth. “What makes you think you can do anything? He’ll just blame you for all of this and break your jewels himself.”

She glanced upward in thought, a look he’d begun to associate with her finding some clever trick of protocol or, perhaps, remembering a secret. She stood, shifted until he was on her left, the subordinate position, and then reached down to take his hand again.

“What makes you so sure,” she said, “that you don’t have a Queen?”

#### Indalene

* * *

Indalene’s head ached as if she’d spent the last night drinking the kind of wine they left out because even the Blood wouldn’t take it. She opened her eyes, closed them, placed her hand over her eyes and then opened them again.

Shifted her fingers apart and saw the room slowly come into focus. The straw-stuffed mattress that she’d shoved up on one end of the bed because it was too large for the frame, the wooden dresser and its false-bottomed drawers, several of which were hanging out as if she’d pulled them open in the middle of the night.

The night. She dropped her hand and looked to what remained of the wooden blinds. Enough slats were missing that she could see the forest beyond, with the trees at its edge stripped of half their leaves. 

“Damn jewel-licking power-mongers,” she muttered. Dealing with matters of the Blood never ended well for landen, let alone strange unexplainable storms that had probably done unpleasant things to the fishing boats if she’d judged the wind right.

Dealing with members of the Blood tended to end the same way, but she’d ran into a couple exceptions. Might be one of them might even have some insight on the situation.

But first, she needed to check on the village. She slipped into a simple dress, one of the rougher weaves from the public looms, and rubbed her hand over where the embroidery of green leaves was starting to come undone. It was the finest thing she’d admit to owning.

From the sounds of a quill scratching on paper in the other room, she wasn’t the only one awake. As she listened she caught the faint sounds of quiet activities, of footsteps heading down into the basements they didn’t admit to, that housed all the things the Blood wouldn’t see if they had no cause to look for them.

The kitchen held a few dirtied plates and a small bowl of berries, along with eggs from the previous morning. It took a few minutes to mix those with a little flour and water, before frying the mixture. Once that was done she wrapped it around the fruit and started to nibble at it as she moved outside.

There, it was even quieter, with only the sound of waves in the distance. It looked as if everyone was still staying inside, in fear of some new foul magic, or merely whatever attention might follow. 

At least most of the boats were still drawn up on the beach, though a few snapped ropes marked where one of them had been pulled loose by the waves. The paths between houses were marked by torn pieces of blinds, bits of thatched roofs torn loose to carpet the ground. Pieces of fencing were missing from around the herb gardens, though between those and the lee of the houses most of the delicate herbs looked to have survived. 

It was only once she’d looked over most of the village that she let herself move down the most well-worn path and crest the hill that allowed her to see the homes of the Blood in the distance. From the distance she could see a few figures, smaller even than the tide-pool crabs. Too few, even so early in the morning.

At that, she started to run.

#### Lirinne

* * *

Lirinne breathed slowly, in and out, the same pattern she held to whenever she added another thread to her web. She lifted her right hand enough so that all her fingers were well within Theldrin’s field of vision and then forced herself to smile in an expression she hoped was more reassuring than fearful.

“Esmyh has no Jewels now,” Theldrin said, and she could see curiosity intermingled with confusion in his golden eyes. “She was—”

“Your aunt’s creature. And now all the illusions are lost to us.” Lirinne would not say she’d been completely lacking in guilt in such matters either, no matter how few choices she’d had. Her decisions were not something she’d ever quite given up as lost to her. 

But that wasn’t what mattered, then. What mattered was Theldrin, the combination of fear and interest when they’d first met, the way he never quite turned cruel in the way his aunt had wanted. And, of course, the strength of his Jewels, the way he hadn’t moved from his position at her left side.

She’d learned far less than she'd wished of protocol, and yet what she had learned might suffice. He needed a task to attend to, some duty to keep from drowning in all they'd lost. As did she. As did they all.

“I need your aid,” she said. “I want to run this court, not to die by it.”

There was a glint in his eyes, evaluating, considering. 

“You know your aunt liked her secrets, her little games that might lead to power if she kept them quiet. The queen she hid had to be kept quieter than most.” It was as close to a confession as she could allow herself.

He pressed his lips together and managed not to stare. “If we do have a queen tucked away somewhere, what are her orders?”

The relief nearly made her stumble. “We need to send messengers to the southern courts, and to speak to the landen. And someone will have to be there to speak with Loucon.” She shivered a little at that last, no doubt the draft from the open window.

“I’d not leave a queen unguarded so quickly, no matter how well she’d hidden herself….”

Ah, and there was the test in his voice. “Rensyr will stay to guard me, and you’ll not be far with meeting Loucon. I am no coddled child to be useless in this.”

He knelt at that and kissed her hands. Both her hands, and she felt some old knot of fear unravel as his lips moved close to the snake-tooth that had marked her for so long. “Loucon would kill you if he knew. He’s old enough to remember the covens. Let alone a queen with—”

“Again, this is why you’ll meet with him,” she said, sharply. “And why Esmyh was the distraction to be woven. She’s always been pliable, but it was still a difficult weaving.”

It had been so hard to lock that part of herself away, to give the illusion of it to another. And yet she would not apologize for having chosen to survive.

His expression hardened. “What message do you want sent, my Queen?”

Business was easier. Simpler. And yet already she missed the touch of his lips against her skin. “Loucon should know a queen remains here, let him assume what he will. I doubt he’ll turn aside easily. The other courts, it depends on what they have remaining. But I have no wish for war with them, only for enough males to form my First Circle. I can only hope they neither fear me too much nor too little.”

“And to the landen?” He struggled over the last word, and yet how grateful she was that he did not question doing so.

“Tell Indalene I wish to meet with her. That she is still my sister.”

#### Theldrin

* * *

He’d chosen from the youngest among the warlords, from those with the lightest of gems to send the messages. It might be taken as an insult, true, but he wouldn’t spare anything more from their defenses than he must. Especially with the Winds so unruly that trips must be taken by foot or horse, rather than measured in little more than minutes.

After rolling it around in his thoughts he asked another of the Warlords to keep watch near the bridge, lest Lirinne’s insight, lest his Queen’s insight, prove incomplete. That was another morsel to contemplate, the heady rush of change, the spice of it. The faint tinge of bitterness, his mind with enough space to contemplate a small court this was, and yet one now so distant from the rest of familial interference. 

But there was still a tension in his body he couldn’t name. Almost fear, for he’d heard the whispers about Black Widows, the dark murmurs. There were no covens of them here, and yet he’d heard in other parts of Terreille that no queens would dare join those covens that remained, learn such arts in full, lest they be judged unfit to rule.

Still, this was no shadow in the forest. It was Lirinne. Which only left everything else he should have been worried about.

 _She told Rensyr,_ he thought, and felt a thousand odd pieces fall into place. _No. She spent her Virgin Night with him because he already knew._

“Darkness be merciful,” he said to the empty room, then stalked off to inspect whatever the other males had been doing for security.

#### Indalene

* * *

That there were rules for dealing with the Blood was a constant refrain among the landen. The patterns of being subservient and quiet, of treating the Blood as something between a hungry predator and a storm in Hayllian form. None of them had ever worked quite as well as Indalene had hoped.

Her village had plenty of cause for its plainness, the beauty all hidden within drawers and private rooms, weaving and artistry done out of sight by poor light lest the Blood choose to claim the best pieces of it for themselves.

Once, the elders said, their boats had been painted in such a way as to be nearly as beautiful as fish themselves. Now they were plain wood, gray from salt and surf, with the only artistry the eyes upon their prow.

It was a secret that Lirinne could have betrayed for them with barely a word. One of the reasons some among them had called for her death, when they learned what she was. When she summoned witchlight for the weavers on dark nights.

But they, if only because of fear, had refrained from a violent end to her. The Blood had their ways, their tales of Hell, and if they didn’t consider killing their own kind to be a crime, then they’d hardly refrain from such when it came to the landen.

She thought of stepping off the path as she saw one of the Blood moving down it, rushing really, enough so that he nearly tripped over his own gangly feet when he saw her.

“Indalene?” he said, and she found herself staring in surprise that he knew her name.

“Lady Lirinne wanted to speak to you.”

“Where is she? And what message?”

“That she wants a meeting with—” The boy’s voice cracked. “A meeting with her sister.” 

He summoned a letter from what looked to be thin air and handed it to her. The written text matched his words, and the hand was familiar enough to quiet suspicion if not alleviate it entirely.

“Then lead me to her,” she said.

The boy nodded, then took her arm in a gesture that made Indalene wonder if that storm had induced a sudden sense of decency and respect among the Blood. If their magic could do that then she might come around on forgiving it.

There were a few more figures scattered around outside the house when they arrived, at least one of whom was familiar, if only on account of Lirinne pointing him out once or twice before.

“Thank you for the escort,” she said to the boy beside her, then stepped away from him toward the man her sister had called Theldrin.

He turned toward her, and frowned. “Indalene, is it?”

“No, I’m a bundle of sentient witchlight from that cursed storm your kind conjured up last night.”

His eyes narrowed for a moment, then he laughed and held out his hand. “If I could make a storm like that, do you think I’d be here?”

“Probably not. Where is she?”

“She’s at the main house, dealing with the records. Is the village...well?”

“Yes. Whatever your magic was didn’t do more than blow the blinds and leaves. If you’d escort me to her?”

Theldrin was still for a moment, though it was a small gesture next to the wide-eyed expression of the boy still standing where Indalene had been. Still, the man-the Warlord Prince-not that such matters of caste had ever made too much sense to Indalene, simply nodded and then held out his arm with an awkward smile. “My lady.”

It was not a long walk back to the house, but it lasted long enough for Indalene to see how few the staff were compared to what had been there a few days before. To see the few bodies they hauled out, and the figures collapsed weeping on the grounds who seemed unaware of all that surrounded them.

“What happened? The storm didn’t—”

“Not to you. Many of the household returned to the Darkness, my aunt among them.”

“I’m sorry.” Indalene wouldn’t say she’d ever heard much good about that woman, and her care for Lirinne had come more with chains than strings. 

But there had been care there nonetheless.

“That makes one of us.”

There was silence between them for a time, eventually interrupted by Indalene’s musing. “What does she need? Will the other courts interfere?”

“Maybe. We don’t have enough Blood left for the First Circle unless others join us, and they’ll not join us if we can’t defend ourselves.”

“Surely they don’t want to anger you. She’s said before that there weren’t many here with dark jewels, and none so skilled as you.”

He stopped so suddenly that she nearly tripped over him. “She said that?”

“More than once.”

She could hear as he drew in a deep breath. “I’ll do what I can, and Rensyr will as well. But they won’t be keen to trust her.”

“Then I’ll defend her myself, if we have to.”

This time, he didn’t stare. She could almost feel the calculation in his gaze. “Just you?”

Her answer came with more ease than she’d expected. After all, they’d seen enough of what they could suffer at the hands of the Blood. If some other court just came in and took over, it would all happen again. “No, I don’t think it will just be me.”


	2. Chapter 2

#### Theldrin

* * *

He’d risen early, having found the night far less restful than he might have wished for. Even with all of them huddled into the main house together the night had been too quiet, without the faint rustling of many bodies or the creak of a floor. 

It had given him time to think. To wonder. Most of those gone were those he’d held little regard for, but if Loucon had survived this intact, then what did that meanabout the man? Loucon had never been kind, true, but his job had been protection, not mere politics. There had been no falseness in it that Theldrin had seen, save perhaps that of a man not questioning his Queen overmuch.

Another word for that was survival. Loucon would know of other courts, of queens seeking strong males for their circles, queens with strength and lineage and no darker arts to marr their names.

Still, he could feel the pride that had grown in his chest when Lirinne had entrusted this task to him, the fear of the old tales of how the Hourglass Coven had been excised from these shores, the moments on his visits before where he’d looked twice at her and felt a desire he could only now name. His family had always hoped that he'd find a queen to serve.

He'd just never agreed with them on the specifics.

But there was need to decide until he’d met Loucon, or even after. So he dressed simply, in riding breeches and a deep green shirt, the top unbuttoned enough to show the jewels around his neck, the pale Opal of his birthright, the deep Green granted by his offering to the Darkness.

How proud he’d been then, and how frightened his parents by that strength.

He didn’t recognize the boy who saddled his horse, but the straps were tight and the animal calm and well-groomed. So he gave his thanks and then rode off toward the bridge Lirinne had spoken of.

On most days, it had simply been another construction of wood, painted with accents of black and red, covered against the summer rains. It was the ravine it ran over that drew that eye more than the bridge itself, the water flowing through and spouting up like a curtain in places, hiding one side or another.

There were whispers about that water, about it pulling down to caves as deep as darkness, about the threads of ancient webs woven to harm any with ill intent. This place had never been important enough to Hayll for every trace of such things to be rooted out.

The road, at least, was too wide to have been swept away completely. Though the dirt of it was stained red in parts, too bright to be blood. It was only when he saw a larger fragment of wood carved with inset flowers that he understood. The storm had not merely broken the bridge, it had stripped the paint and wood to dust, blown it down across the road and into the trees beyond.

He stared, then dismounted and shielded himself, led his horse with him the rest of the way. There was little on the ground to offer further insight, and when he reached the ravine no pieces were caught upon its sides. 

Perhaps the water had taken them, for it gushed through at a faster pace than he’d ever seen, threw a screen of misty air and water up between the two sides.

He settled himself down to wait. Were it anyone else who might be visited he’d not have made such a presumption of their promptness, but Loucon had been rigid in such matters. Rigid in so many of them, truly. The man would not bend save to break.

The mist did not keep him from seeing the figures that approached beyond it. Five men, their postures steady, their hands at their sides and yet still ready to summon blades to them. Perhaps it was the water, the old web, but their strength was a strange mixture to his senses, their minds hidden from him by tattered threads of power far older than all of them. Theldrin saw no horses with Loucon and his men; no doubt they’d been left further up the road lest the space around the bridge become a killing field.

He recognized Loucon as the one in the center, and would have even without knowing who it was he should meet. Such pride there was in the old man, as if he were a lone spike of untouched metal while the world rusted around him.

The others he did not recognize, which meant they likely wore lighter jewels, had been in the ranks of the third or second circle if they held any such ranks at all.

“Theldrin?” Loucon’s voice was distorted by the rush of water, but still recognizable. “Thank the Darkness you’re still here.”

Theldrin didn’t venture to guess whether such thankfulness was for his survival, or simply that he hadn’t run off after his aunt had treated him as half a pleasure slave. There was still a certain appeal to the running off. 

“I am. But my aunt is gone.”

“And the other queen?” 

“Shaken, but alive.” Theldrin restrained himself to that, and wondered if it showed in his voice, in the tension between his shoulders. So long as it didn’t show easily. He was a dark-Jeweled Warlord Prince, he could at least keep Loucon from seeing all his uncertainties.

“Good. She’s your responsibility until I return, I need the court in order and this magic—” Loucon gestured at the water between them “Requires more strength than mine alone. I’ll return in six days, so bring the men you trust and meet me here that morning. Do that, and once all this is done, I’ll ensure you find a place at a proper court on the mainland. First Circle.”

Theldrin nodded at that, not trusting himself to speak. He wondered for a moment why they were speaking, had the river made itself so strong that they couldn’t discuss this on a Green or Opal thread? 

Loucon looked out into the forest before he continued. “And if you find Black Widows, restrain them and bring them with you, then. The full court should see their judgment.”

Theldrin couldn’t help but remember the shattered nail on Lirinne’s right hand, one small token of Loucon’s judgment in such matters. “All of them?” he said.

“All of them. I cleansed this land of their influence once, I’ll do it again. Who else could be responsible for this storm?” Loucon did not wait for confirmation, but simply turned away to return back to his horses, his court, and whatever else he’d brought under his sway since the storm had turned all their worlds to fragments.

 _Someone far stronger than any of us,_ Theldrin thought, and shuddered to think of any among the Blood wielding such power. 

#### Lirinne

* * *

The few illusions she’d already woven sat on the desk before her, their size seemingly so small compared to all the strength they’d drained from her jewels. _Behold, the terrifying Black Widow,_ she thought, finding herself too tired to be bitter. 

This all would be far simpler if she were able to live up to even half of the dreadful rumors about the old covens. To disguise whole villages, produce enough poison to ruin the very waters around them, to bend all save the darkest of jewels to their will. And still Loucon had been able to destroy them all, to leave nothing behind save flowers that spoke of death.

If she’d had a month, in defiance of what Theldrin had already reported, perhaps she’d have been able to hide half the population of the village, at least for a few moments. More if she tied into the old spells she’d stumbled across as a child, the sort of passive illusions that kept unknowing eyes away. But fouling the water supply would just kill all of them faster, and as for bending anyone to her will...well, she could only do that in the most mundane of fashions.

With the aid of the landen they’d not starve, at least. That counted for something. She rubbed a finger down the bridge of her nose and turned back to making more illusions, for she'd learned long ago it was far better to make herself useful than to twist her worries until they snapped.

She was so absorbed in contemplation and illusions that she didn’t notice Theldrin as he stepped into the room behind her. When she turned and saw him, her smile, for one moment, was an open and uncalculated thing, and then she quickly reassembled her composure. She was the Queen, after all, even if there was no true court to it.

“The messenger just arrived,” he said, tilting his head and giving her a languorous smile in return. “And my visit to the landen produced a great deal of pitchforks, hunting bows, and knives. I don’t know where they could have hidden all of it.”

“They have a lot of practice in such matters,” she said, then vanished the webs with a wave of her hand. “And the bows should help, though I’d hoped they’d have more blades. Perhaps you can ask Rensyr later?”

He nodded. “Already planned.”

“Good. If you’d escort me?” The words came easier than she’d expected, warmer as well.

He moved to the formal position on her left and then held forth his arm and proved himself easy to lean on. “My lady. And I have an idea to ask of you as well, once the messenger is done.”

Or perhaps she just wanted him to be easy to lean on, so she’d have an excuse for it in the future. 

The messenger awaited them downstairs, and despite the mud on his boots and the way he carefully modulated his breath he didn’t look ill-used. “My lady,” he said to Lirinne after only a moment’s hesitation. 

She resisted the urge to look around for whatever lady he was addressing. This was her place now, and by the darkness she meant to hold it. “Will they take us in?”

He shook his head and then found his words. “No, they’ve no queens of age to build a court. They...they’ve asked if we’ll take them in.”

“What did you tell them?” she said.

“That we have a queen,” the messenger said. “And that she has no love for Loucon.”

Well, that wasn’t false, though she imagined they’d be less than pleased when confronted with the reality of it. “Did you plan a meeting?”

“They’ll be here within several days with half a dozen warlords; they don’t have the horses to move faster.”

“Go change your clothes, eat something, and then rest. I’ll speak to them when they arrive.” Lirinne could feel a faint pang in the back of her skull, a matching ache from her hand. 

The messenger bowed and left.

Then Theldrin turned to her and gently raised a hand to her cheek. “I can tell you my idea over dinner, if you wish.”

“I’d appreciate that. Though you’ve already been of great aid today.”

“I have to, if I’m to be in your First Circle.” He stiffened, and Lirinne got the impression he’d just said a little more than he’d meant to.

She stared at him for a few seconds, then nodded in answer. Some part of her mind felt relieved, even excited at his interest in such a position, in caring about her court. And yet it was hard to fathom the idea that he’d settle with her, rather than some dark-Jeweled queen with no questionable associations, just a little hard to swallow. Surely being in her First Circle, rather than second in a far better court, was little with which to tempt him. There had to be more he wanted.

But maybe it didn’t matter. If he kept her and the others alive long enough, he could take whatever position he wanted elsewhere with her gratitude. 

They ate in the rooms that Lirinne had now claimed for herself, which had formerly been one of the nicer guest quarters and possessed a bed, dresser, and desk all of finely carved dark wood, along with a small table and chairs that had been hauled in from one of the balconies. 

Theldrin, for his part, excused himself to head to the kitchens and returned soon after with slices of roast beef and red-rimmed cheese, along with some small loaves of fresh-baked bread. He started to slice the bread for her immediately, and only took his seat after Lirinne had sat down herself.

“Why did you tell Rensyr?” he said, after a few minutes broken up only by the noise of eating.

“I didn’t. He was the one who found me in the village. Sometimes I think they’d been hiding me from the others, that they hoped he’d be more sensible, even with as little power as—'' She shook her head. “Your aunt insisted I perform the spell with Esmyh as soon as I was able. And impressed upon me how much danger I’d be in were anyone else to find out.”

“You know I wouldn’t put you in danger.”

“Now I do,” she said, her voice far more certain than she felt. She set her hand on his shoulder. “I’m still unsure if I’m grateful I can no longer hide it.”

She saw the way his golden eyes widened, heard the noise of him shifting in his chair. He turned his head away and fell silent.

“You had an idea to mention?”

He looked back to her. “Loucon thinks I’m on his side, and he wouldn’t think of the landen in any case. Indalene swore I was trying to be blind when she was showing me the weapons. Hunting bows and fish knives, mostly, but it’s more than we have. And we have you as well.”

“I’ve put together a few illusions, but they’re nothing more than encouragement to look elsewhere. They won’t last long in battle.”

“That should help, but we need to be sure that arrows can end things once we’ve taken down their shields.” He flipped her hand over, the touch delicate and yet completely certain, as if he’d decided on something she didn’t yet comprehend. “How strong are your poisons?”

That made her pause in thought. Of all her talents that had previously been one she'd dare not touch, save for when the venom had built up enough that the snake-tooth required milking. “They’d need to be concentrated, but that might work. And Aliris will need to make antidotes if she has time.”

“She should, and a few of the landen offered to help her as well.”

She took a deep breath and tried to smile. “It’s settled then. I’ll speak with Aliris and then arrange the rest of it once Indalene is back from the village. As for the First Circle, let's discuss that tomorrow. The poisons will take up all my time for today in preparation.” 

Then she squeezed his hand gently and allowed herself to savor the thought of his interest in her First Circle. Such a discussion could only be heightened by a little waiting.

#### Indalene

* * *

“He doesn’t think we’ll be much use,” Indalene said, picking at a plate of fish and roasted vegetables from the last year’s harvest. 

Lirinne raised an eyebrow from across the table. “What makes you think that? He seemed pleased enough with the weapons you’d hidden.”

“If he thought we could do actual damage with them he’d be worried, not pleased. As it is I fear we might as well be dropping leaves on them.” One half-Blood could rule an entire village if they wanted it, Indalene couldn’t help but worry just how many of them it might take to bring down actual warlords with decent jewels. “I agreed to this to save our asses, not to get all of us fucked.”

While Lirinne hid her flinch well, it wasn’t enough with how long they’d known each other. “He’s not worried because you probably can’t hurt him. But then, most of the warlords couldn’t either, and we’re still taking them.”

Indalene couldn’t help laughing at that. “That’s not quite what I’d call reassuring.”

“And lying would be?”

“You’re not that good of a liar.” Indalene paused with her fork almost to her mouth. “Well, you are, it just wouldn’t help any of this.”

“Just so. This doesn’t work without you. And there’s one other thing; I think all your weapons reminded Theldrin of the possibility.”

The fork sunk back down to the plate with a faint clink. “Go on.”

Lirinne leaned back, rubbing her left hand over her right, as if this were one of the few Blood matters she’d never been keen to discuss with her sister. “I’m going to make a poison for you, and the healer will make an antidote to match. It won’t add too much against their shielding, but it should end matters quickly once you’re through that.”

“That’s...useful.” Indalene sighed. But edging things a little more in their favor only counted for so much. “Do you think it’ll all be enough?”

“Not yet. But if we can get even a few males from the other court, then it might be enough. Theldrin is strong, but he doesn’t have Loucon’s experience on the killing fields.”

Indalene said nothing at first, not quite sure how to respond to the worry she felt beneath the words. Bows and hunting knives, poisoned or not, still felt as if she’d be an ant hunting a pack of wolves.

Even if the ants won, a whole lot of them would wind up crushed.

#### Theldrin

* * *

Theldrin knocked on the open doorway to Lirinne's workroom and frowned as she slammed her arm against the table in startlement. Apparently she'd forgotten the hour. Or their meeting.

“If you need more supplies for the antidote then you’ll have to wait,” she said, rubbing at the fingers of her right hand. “My fingers started going numb an hour ago.”

“Aliris said they’re done for the day. I brought you her notes, and the ones from Rensyr on our supplies.” Theldrin held the papers out toward her and cast a careful glance around. One table had been taken over by a series of small vials, and another was covered with what looked to be carefully folded illusions, atop maps and a series of papers, several of which were held down by a ragged book of protocol. The single chair in the room sat to one side, unused.

“Thank you,” she said, motioning for him to set the documents with the other papers. “Does this mean I’m late for our discussion?”

“We can worry about that later. No one is making it across the river just yet,” he said, with a dismissiveness he didn’t quite feel. “Can I see your hand?”

She held her right hand up, flexed it slightly so he could see the snake’s tooth jutting out from beneath the nail. He clasped it and gently started to rub at the joints, careful of the stiffness in her fingers. 

For a time she just stood there silently, flexing a finger or two whenever his touch moved away. Used her left hand to cap a small vial that only held a few droplets of venom. “I’m listening,” she said, finally. “What was it you wanted to say?”

“You should make Rensyr your Steward,” he said, going with the first half-appropriate thought that came to mind.

“I will,” she said. “But I don’t think that was ever in question. Did you have any other suggestions? One for the Master of the Guard, perhaps?”

That would be a good position, notable above even a place in the First Circle. It might even be enough for his family to be proud, for his parents to bother writing rather than waiting until he made himself into someone respectable.

It wasn’t the one he wanted. Which made it easier, almost. Whatever you wanted had a remarkable capacity to be the one thing that could hurt you.

“You might want to look to whoever we can get from the other court, for that. Most everyone left here is still rather young for it.” His hand, his body tensed as he said that.

He squeezed her fingers and she flinched, pressed back against him. Only for a second before he dropped his hands to his sides and stepped back. But they were close for long enough.

“Why are you still wearing the ring?” she said, and when she turned her head to look at him her gaze pierced right through everything he might have said.

All of the answers he could give felt inadequate. Mistrustful. That he’d kept it on as a contingency plan in case this all went badly, if he needed someone else to blame. Few males tried to defy a Ring of Obedience for very long.

“Will you remove it for me?” He nearly bit back the words the moment he’d spoken them, but then she nodded it response and he nearly dissolved under the sense of relief.

“If it’ll make it easier for you, then yes.” Lirinne reached down to undo his pants, yet kept her eyes meeting his. 

He couldn’t escape the sense she knew what he hadn’t quite asked. Of the one corner of the Queen’s Triangle he couldn’t bring himself to name.

Her touch was a quick, gentle thing, and any shame he felt was drowned beneath by how much he wanted her hand to remain there. Or elsewhere. Against his cock or his skin or anywhere else where he could be sure the storm hadn’t taken her. Then he felt as she pressed the still-warm metal ring into his hand. 

“Do what you will with it,” Lirinne said. And then, “I carried my own chains long enough, I’ll not hold them for any others.”

The ring went into his pocket, and he bent down to pull his pants back up, paused at the nearness of her. “I was jealous of Rensyr before.”

“I noticed.” She wrapped her right hand around the back of his neck and pulled Theldrin into a kiss. One warm against the fading heat of the day, and long as if they were trying to pull all air from the room together.

When he could breathe again he reached for the buttons of his shirt and found her hand already there.

“Leave it on,” she said. “You look good like this.”

She kissed him again, then, guided his hand between her legs as he tried to absorb every detail of her presence. The soft skin of her thighs, the pressure of her fingers, just tight enough to be clear of her intent. How thin the fabric of her dress felt when he leaned against her.

He knelt beside her, and Lirinne in her turn moved to stand against the solidity of the wall. He looked to the door, raised his other hand in question, ready with a gesture of power, and she shook her head.

“I don’t want to hide either,” he admitted. Maybe he just wanted to be known for bedding a witch he’d actually chosen. To state his loyalties with far less room for doubt.

She pulled his hand up further, tugged up the hem of her dress with it, until he could feel the wet nub of her clit, the heat of her body around it.

“Slowly.” She indicated the pace with her hand, then released that grip and tangled all her fingers in his hair, the wrinkled fabric of his shirt. 

And oh, how keen he was to obey. How wide his smile at knowing what she wanted.

So he was slow at first, rolling her clit between his fingers, then reaching deeper until she clutched at his shoulder and drew her foot up against his thigh. Hurried his pace when her breathing changed, when he felt her drawing close to the edge.

“Not yet,” she whispered, her voice heavy with his efforts. She lifted his chin, his head with her hand. “You were going to tell me I should relax, weren’t you?”

“Yes.”

“Good. Hold me up against the wall, then.”

He could think of nothing he wanted more.


	3. Chapter 3

#### Lirinne

* * *

Lirinne had fallen asleep next to a half-open book of protocol, her hair spilled across it and tangled against her mouth. She didn’t really remember making her way to her bedroom. Hadn’t made it to the bed, maybe. She’d not tired Theldrin so much that he couldn’t have carried her the rest of the way.

Though she certainly remembered tiring him. 

It took her almost a minute to roll out of the bed, to drag herself from the smooth touch of the sheets and find every aching muscle in the process. A basin of water waited for her on the sideboard, cool enough to shock her into wakefulness.

She groaned, then turned to the wardrobe to inspect the few pieces of clothing she’d claimed for herself, a quantity further diminished by how many of them were currently off being adjusted. Rensyr had been pointed about how she deserved clothes that fit, and she would have sworn that some of the dresses and shirts had disappeared before she’d ever agreed with him.

But she needed to wear something that she hadn’t fallen asleep in.

There was a knock on the door, and she tensed, then spread out her limbs over the warm spot in the bed once she heard Theldrin’s voice.

“I brought breakfast. Don’t worry, I promise I didn’t burn any of it.” He hesitated a moment longer, then opened the door. 

Her sense of warm affection was amplified by the scent of the food he’d brought with him. The tray he carried held plates, cups, and then a veritable array of food. Delicately fried eggs, one of what must have been the last pork sausages from the stores, and biscuits served with a spiced apple jam. The landen kept the recipe for the last a closely guarded secret, one Indalene denied knowing.

“Where did you get this?” She reached immediately for the plate.

He smiled and moved the book of protocol out of the way, then set the food down on the desk. “I might have told your sister how busy you were. Well, not all of it.”

Lirinne raised an eyebrow.

“You are the one who said you needed to relax.” 

“And you’re already turning my own words back on me. Just what did I do to deserve you?” she said, lightly. Perhaps too lightly.

He tensed in turn, then took the jar of jam from the tray and started applying it to his own biscuits. “If we all survive this then I’ll tell you.”

“In that case, you’d better share the jam.”

#### Theldrin

* * *

Theldrin spent most of the day afterward going through more supplies the landen had unearthed from their cellars. An activity that gave him all too much time to think, no matter how the landen chattered among themselves. He’d never thought before of how they’d weathered all the crises of the Blood, the way Dorothea’s reign had spread over the land like spilled ink across a map.

Maybe he could ask them. He wanted more of the jam if nothing else. They’d had far more to offer than he’d expected, a train of thought that nearly made him laugh at himself. At how Lirinne’s influence was getting to him. He’d never paid much attention to what the village did before, which apparently had put him ahead of a great many of the Blood whose interest in such things had been pointedly unpleasant.

But it was good to have something to do, to offer. Some sort of service to fulfill. The protocol had been clear on that as well, no matter his insistence that he was simply an extra with an egregious sense of honor. His parents had known what to do with his brothers, with warlords and lighter jewels. Not so with a Warlord Prince and the Green he wore.

With the Ring of Obedience they’d sent him to bear inert in his pocket, he could no longer quite work himself up over such opinions.

*Theldrin, report.* The voice was unfamiliar and weak, sent on a Rose thread distorted by the noise of rushing water.

*Theldrin!* The thought came with an image, the lean form of one of the warlords who’d accompanied Loucon. 

*What?* Theldrin said, back on the same thread, and held back all the other questions that came to mind. Why wasn’t it Loucon sending it? How badly had his forces been depleted if a Rose-Jeweled warlord had been tasked with sending messages?

How strong was the barrier of the river if it had gotten through?

*The barrier is fading, it’ll be a few more days and then we can—the queen?—Black Widows—alive—*

Whatever else might have come through on the thread was gone, cast away by old creations of power.

*Rensyr,* Theldrin thought, and found that mental thread still as clear as ever. *Make sure we post someone next to the river.*

Once the barrier was down, Loucon would learn what he, what all of them, had done.

#### Indalene

* * *

“You’re sure you want the dagger?” Indalene frowned, then leaned in to adjust her sister’s grip on the aforementioned weapon. 

Lirinne nodded, though her soreness was evident in the slump of her shoulders, the way the dagger wavered in her hands. The weapon itself was a simple thing, the leather around the hilt worn almost smooth, the edges blunted to avoid any accidents. “I wasn’t supposed to learn how to defend myself before. Or at least not to have any access to what I’d want to use for it.”

“As opposed to the other weapons.”

“Oh. And yes. I’m holding out some hopes for conversation rather than battle.” Lirinne braced her feet and adopted another new approximation of the stance Indalene had shown her.

Optimism. Indalene hadn’t quite expected that, despite everything. Or perhaps because of everything. “With the other court? Or Loucon?”

“The other court. If there was any chance of it with Loucon he’d have been told what I was a long time ago.”

“Put your feet into position before you tell me about that.”

Achieving that was the work of several minutes, after which Indalene stepped back with a sigh and then tilted her head, evaluating. “I shouldn’t tire you out any further. You’re getting the start of it down though.”

“Flatterer.”

Indalene grinned and shook her head. “Not me. But it won’t do you much good if you’re too tired to lift anything. And I have a gift to show you up at your fancy house, also.”

Lirinne nodded, then vanished the dagger away into whatever realm they sent such items to. “Far be it from me to spoil the joy of your surprises.”

Well, Indalene wouldn’t say that she was the one getting the major share of the joy out of it, but they’d just have to see. “You can tell me what’s bothering you about the other court on the way.”

“Oh, that’s simple. They won’t help us if they’re too afraid of me. So I’ll have to be the flatterer there.”

It wasn’t much help, but Indalene couldn’t help the snort of laughter that escaped her. “Afraid of you? Giant magic storms, Loucon running around out there, and they’d worry about you? Are these the same Blood who aren’t even bothered by killing each other?”

“You’re right. But even the Blood want their fears to mean a person they can hurt. I just need to turn that into the chance to make them listen." Lirinne gave a very expansive shrug. "It’s not as if all of this could be handled via a strongly worded letter.”

“Well, Meris was asking if you had any need for a secretary.”

“I’ll talk to Rensyr,” Lirinne said, and then lapsed into silence.

That silence lasted up through the time it took them to reach the main house. Its overwrought structure loomed over the path. Over the ragged green shoots in the garden, stripped of leaves and deep red blooms alike. Several of the windows were covered by rough boards or shutters that had been nailed back in place after the storm.

The house, once they stepped inside, was abuzz with activity. The lone healer from among the Blood was preparing antidotes and organizing supplies, assisted by several landen who understood the use of bandages and sutures. Indalene smiled at them as she passed. From the scattered plates they’d not even taken a proper break for their lunch.

The main entrance hall had been scrubbed clean, with witchlights floating at its sides to illuminate the dark wood. A few busts had been pulled out from storage and displayed as well, and Indalene could guess well enough at the intent of such a display.

The newest piece, the one that made Lirinne pause and stare upward, was a banner of interlocked designs in the shape of diamonds, colored for the jewels. Purple tassels hung from the bottom of it, swaying in a breeze that had come in through a crack in the windows.

“You made this?”

“It was commissioned a while ago. We wanted to finish it for you.” 

Lirinne wandered beneath it, then stared up, admiring. “It’s starting to become a proper court.Though perhaps it would look better if we commissioned a few more pieces. We can discuss that in a few days?”

Indalene gave that her best attempt at a smile. “The business would be appreciated, I’m sure.” 

#### Theldrin

* * *

Most of Theldrin’s time in the village had involved supplies, weapons, and training. He was finally starting to feel more familiar with the blade he’d claimed for himself, having drawn back all the training he’d once had into active memory.

He’d promised to let Indalene instruct him on handling the landen hunting bows once they’d dealt with Loucon. And perhaps it was her lack of fear that had let the other landen relax around him and the other Warlords who’d trained with them.

It had only taken a few days before there were awnings set up in the village center, before old signs were repainted to draw the eye rather than evade it. He’d seen Rensyr there several times already. On the last visit the Steward-to-be had been trailed around by a young landen man, the latter thoroughly occupied with taking notes.

Theldrin would have called it mundane save for the beauty of the items on display. He’d seen a few such pieces in the house before, rarities to be shown to any visitors of note. Were it not for conversations with Lirinne, he’d never have thought on how they were obtained.

Of how easy it could be for the Blood to simply take, if their queens chose to overlook it.

The stall that caught his eye was set onto the porch of a larger building, with a propped-up sign decorated in yellow that proclaimed it the domain of a jeweler. He’d never seen it before, seen any sign of it, but then all he’d done recently had made it clear how little he’d known of the village and its secrets.

The proprietor herself was an old woman with graying hair and sharp eyes. The selection she had was all copper and small gems, nicely formed but not quite adequate to the idea slowly forming in his thoughts.

“Do you have anything else?” he asked.

The jeweler flinched, and he held up a hand as he realized just what she might have thought of him. And then that he didn’t have anything to offer that wasn’t already hers, if the resemblance of this work to his aunt’s jewelry meant what he thought it might. “Not like that. I just want to look.”

She nodded, but didn’t move, as if waiting for him to finish.

The trouble with that was that he had to know what he was asking. And if he should, when Lirinne had been in no hurry to discuss matters of her circles.

Knowing how many other worries they had to address didn’t make that detail easier.

The jeweler furrowed her brow. “A simple piece then, if you’re worried about it. Some earrings, or a bracelet for the lady? I even have a decorated scabbard for a dagger, though you favor a different weapon from what I hear.”

“A bracelet,” Theldrin echoed. He could imagine the lines of metal, bright against the warm brown of Lirinne’s skin, the black of her hair whenever she rubbed a hand across her eyes. “What would you suggest?”

The jeweler leaned over the counter and clasped his chin without fear. “Gold to match your eyes, and some brown opals for the lady’s.”

His eyes widened a little at that touch, but he forced down any reaction beyond that. This was no killing field to let himself react on instinct. And they knew Lirinne here, he'd learned as much these past few days.

“Hmm. Can I see the scabbard?” It felt a temptation, a delay, not quite facing that he didn’t have anything of his own to trade.

Except, except...he put a hand against his pocket and found the Ring of Obedience right where he’d left it. He pulled it out, slowly, as if it weighed as much as a mountain, then set it down on the end of the stall. “And would this be worth anything to you?”

The jeweler, thanks be to the darkness, did not question it. Only lifted the ring in her hands, considered the size of it, the metal, then nodded. “Gold such as that? I can trade you a piece or two for it.”

He could feel himself smile, not the predatory gaze of a Warlord Prince, but the excitement he’d once held in finding a pretty stone to show his brothers. A simple sort of joy he was just starting to rediscover. “In that case, I absolutely wish to see that scabbard.”

#### Lirinne

* * *

Lirinne had dressed carefully for that evening, for the hope of change, for the darkness that was only a symbol of the true Darkness. For the night that was the eve of the eve of battle.

Her hand ached for all the venom pulled from it, for the time she’d spent in antidotes and tangled webs. She’d never had the strength for large ones, and now, it was all she could manage to light the candles without draining herself more than could be spared.

The dress was dark, a shade that wavered between black and deepest brown depending on the light. Her necklace followed the plunging neckline in gold and amber to match her eyes, and her hands were gloved beneath black lace.

She wore the clothes of the dead, now fitted to her form. Another symbol to be held out before whoever arrived on the morrow. 

But queens and symbols still had their own needs. So she smoothed her dress with one hand and watched the candles fading as she thought of all the things left unsaid.

Theldrin had thankfully arrived early. His clothing was rather simpler than hers, a shirt in dark green that bore a few hints of landen embroidery, and a pair of pants she’d not torn from him yet.

He barely had the chance to relight the candles before she pressed herself against him, tilted his chin up, black nails melting into black lace, all stark against his skin. 

“Kiss me,” she said, as the lines of her nails left impressions upon his cheek.

He was of a height with her when he stood, and as he bent toward her she pulled him close, found the taste of lips and press of tongue. Let herself fall backward upon the bed, upon her bed, and him with him. Already his cock was stirring.

She toyed with his clothes, the buttons of the shirt undone ever so slowly. He growled at this, and brought his lips down across the line of skin her dress left exposed. His eyes were alight with hunger.

“Don’t be gentle,” she said. Cloth could be mended, but the loyalty of a Warlord Prince was a rarer and far more valuable thing. 

One she still could hardly hope might be hers.

A gift she’d not deny. She guided his hand to the end of that line, the seam along which to tear, as his head moved down between her breasts. Moved down to honor her, ever riding the edge, all that violence calmed beneath her hands.

None of them would stand before him.

The cloth resisted, then tore with a touch of force, of craft and power. She bent to kiss the top of his head and rolled the both of them over, legs around his shoulders, hands tangled into his hair.

His hands ran down her sides as if to memorize her. Clasped her aching fingers and held them to his lips ere he was engulfed by her.

Traced the ghost of a pattern across her lower back and reflected her gaze in worshipful gold.

“My queen,” he said, and all her fears reduced down to one thought to reflect back to his eyes. 

_Mine._

Then she left him no space to speak. Tousled his hair beneath her legs, her hands, arched her back as his tongue and mouth delved against her. 

*If I’d known earlier….* the thought came unbidden from him on a psychic thread.

“Then you’d have learned how to focus on your work already,” she teased, adjusting the movement of her hips, running one hand across his chest with the faintest hint of craft. 

And focus he did until everything was subsumed beneath the warmth of his lips, the ache in her body that wore itself out beneath his attention. She released the grip of her legs and he lifted her, slid her down so that she could sit astride him. 

There was a wonder in his eyes as she sheathed him, and more gratitude than she deserved.

He took her hand again as he gazed up at her, laid kisses upon all her fingers. Gently so, lest she pause in the movement of her hips. The old aches in her finger-bones had never dissipated.

She held his hand in turn and pulled it back to her chest. Let him brush fingers over the undergarments, tug them loose to expose stiffened nipples. His breath caught beneath her, and she clenched his hand, pulled herself back just a little to make him wait.

His other hand explored that small space in between them, the swell of her clit, the wetness, the soft skin of her thighs.

She held onto his hair as it overwhelmed her, smiled as the paroxysms of her delight pushed him finally over the edge as well.

Then she collapsed against him, head over his chest, the blankets kicked down to barely cover their feet, intertwined with the clothing that remained.

“I wish we could have done this before,” he said, and sounded as breathless as she felt.

Lirinne inhaled. Rolled onto her side and smiled as her fingers explored the base of his chin. “But we couldn’t. And now we’re here. Alive. With all the night to try it.”

He kissed her then, slowly, first using only his lips and then his tongue, his hand brushing across her side once again.

“All the nights,” he said, and it felt as if he’d added the weight of an oath to it. She’d never seen such softness in his eyes.

“Just stay,” she said. “Stay until I forget how to hide myself away.”

And so he remained.

#### Indalene

* * *

There had been some sort of invisible message sent along before the representatives of the other court arrived. Nearly too late, by Indalene’s reckoning, for those scouts and warlords keeping an eye on the river had said it would only stay overflowing, stay as a barrier, for one more night and a few hours beyond that.

Still, she made it there in sufficient time to see the arrival of a new group of Blood, consisting of six men, all warlords so far as she could tell, and two women. She stepped back to let Lirinne greet them, and found herself feeling suddenly out of place.

“Where’s Esmyh?” That was one of the men, who was promptly glared into silence by the rest of his party. 

“Her jewels were shattered by the storm. I am the only queen here, now.” There was a precision to Lirinne’s word, the sort that usually meant she was trying to hold back a great many things she actually wanted to say.

“Ah, how...unusual. No wonder the old queen kept both of you hidden away,” one of the women said, and made an attempt at a smile. “I am Adette, the assistant—the priestess now.” Even without any sense of their power Indalene could feel some of the tension slip away.

“I am glad you came. May I introduce you to my sister, Indalene. Her family took me in when I was just a child.” Lirinne’s words dissipated the rest of that tension, at least for a moment.

Indalene bowed her head only a little. “I am glad to meet you.” She’d gotten the impression that a priestess was necessary for some ceremonies among the Blood, but the fine details of such matters were beyond her grasp.

“Shall we move to the dining room, then?” That was Lirinne. “I’d not wish to be remiss in the treatment of my guests, and we can discuss matters there as easily as elsewhere. I’m sure we’ve no shortage of details to handle.”

“A few,” Adette said. “But in truth we need a Queen more than anything else, we lost everyone of rank that we had, and it sounds as if we’re not the only ones so affected. If Loucon is too keen to kill you to see that, then he’s further gone than any of us had thought.”

Theldrin’s voice chimed in from the far end of the dining room at that, and Indalene, out of all the things she could think, found herself suddenly grateful she hadn’t been the one late for these arrivals. “He doesn’t want her killed. Just captured.” 

The rustling of everyone taking their seats was rather loud compared to the silence that followed. Indalene couldn’t help but watch how all the warlords looked to Theldrin, looked to the jewels he wore exposed. He fit in the space as if he belonged there. As if he’d never held any other role. All intentional, surely, for she didn’t get the impression that any of their visitors matched that strength. 

Indalene ate her food and didn’t linger on thinking too much about all of it. It had always been a safer bet to leave Blood politics to the Blood when you could.

Finally, there was a soft chime from the head of the table, followed by Lirinne’s voice. “I wish you had all been summoned here merely for food and talk of building a court, but the barrier of the river will not hold for much longer. Theldrin has agreed to lead our forces, and from what reports we have Loucon has few warlords left with jewels of any strength. It is him we have to fear, and him alone.”

Indalene had never seen so many of the Blood suddenly so fascinated by whatever was upon their plates. She laughed, the sound seeped through by bitterness. “If any of you want to say you’re afraid, then shit, I’m going to be there too and I’m not complaining. Loucon tore through here once before, and killed a bunch of people that didn’t need killing. And last I heard, you can't make a court just out of dead people.”

Partly out of dead people, yes, but that was in the same category of things she wasn’t asking about as whatever had been going on with the ‘rut’ that had led Theldrin to tear an entire field out of stony ground in a few days.

“We can speak of the matter of courts once Loucon is dealt with,” Lirinne said. “But I can say now that I’ll have plenty of space in my First Circle.”

Several of the young warlords perked up at that, and one, whose jewel was purple-toned, perhaps a few shades darker than Lirinne’s, spoke up. “I’d be honored to serve.”

Adette, visible out of the corner of Indalene’s eye, half-hid a smile behind her spoon. “I wouldn’t have brought them here if we didn’t need this, and darkness take the consequences. But, I heard news from the mainland today. Fragments, really. But hey’re as hard-hit by the storm as we are, and their High Priestess is gone.”

That at least seemed to improve the mood, and the rest of the meal was spent in quiet chatter. The warlord with the purple jewel even spent a few minutes inquiring about what Indalene intended to bring to the battle. She’d never seen someone quite so wide-eyed at the prospect of using hunting bows, of all things. 

And if they all didn’t think too much on the next day, well, maybe that made it easier. Theldrin drifted off with the warlords, and then everyone followed, save for Lirinne.

It would have been too simple to say that concern had seeped in her sister’s expression, for Indalene could pick out layers upon layers of worries. Finally she walked over and leaned against the table with a casual air that she’d perfected since they were children.

“Out with it,” Indalene said.

“With what?” And then, “I wish I knew why he wanted me alive. I can’t build the sort of illusions the old covens did, and he has no cause to know I’m a queen as well. So why?”

“Is there anything else he could use an illusion for?”

It was almost a stupid question. Of course there were uses for illusions, but ones Loucon would want? The silence that dragged on made it clear that neither of them had an answer.


	4. Chapter 4

#### Lirinne

* * *

The journey to the river was quiet. Even Indalene seemed overcome by anticipation, by all that might balance upon these few moments. And Lirinne had spent all her time on the way mulling over what Theldrin had said, over why in all the realms Loucon might want a Black Widow alive.

They, at least, reached what was left of the bridge first, in enough time for the landen archers and the pair of warlords with them to hide themselves in dense greenery, their forms turned hazy by the webs of illusion she’d granted them. Most of them. There had not been time for all.

The rest assembled under Theldrin at the edge of what might become a killing field, and she saw the way they looked over toward her when she pretended her attention was elsewhere. How they knew she’d been locked away too much to be trained for battle.

Still, she would not stand aside for this.

Finally, the water rippled, and Theldrin came to her side as the curtain of water fell. Her right side. A small deception, when it came down to it. 

“So you did bring her.” Loucon’s voice reached out through the space like a predator’s hiss. Warlords flanked him on either side, fanned out further behind him. Perhaps as many as she had, but that would not matter if they bore darker jewels. But she could not see what jewels they wore, and even Loucon had not set his out as a threat.

“You told me to aid the queen, did you not?” The tension in Theldrin’s voice was a retort, a challenge. 

And one Loucon did not rise to meet. Not yet. “So all your hidden things are now revealed.”

*He’s not wearing his own shields.* That was Theldrin, the psychic whisper as dark as she could hear, and even as Lirinne heard it she saw Nyend, one of the newly-arrived, step up on her left. A Purple Dusk jewel shone from a ring on his hand. He too could shield her when the battle came.

If it came.

Loucon had never before needed another’s shields before battle.

“I could barely hide half myself before,” Lirinne said, her voice sharp and loud with all the power she could muster. “How desperate you must be, to think a Black Widow would hide your shattered jewels.”

For half a second, the smallest sliver of time that seemed to extend on forever, she doubted.

And then Loucon charged toward her, haphazard in anger, and only two of his men followed.

#### Theldrin

* * *

Theldrin could feel the cracks in Loucon’s shield, the gaps that showed the layering of Blood Opal above Summer-sky and Rose. The way it twisted around Loucon and the warlords with him, as if they were—

_Too close._

*Shield me,* Theldrin thought at the Warlord beside Lirinne, then delved to the depths of his Green Jewel for power. Power that Loucon should have echoed, and didn’t.

He protected Lirinne with the Green and felt a Purple Dusk shield settle around him. It wavered beneath blasts of power from the warlords. Frayed. Held. Then he tore the enemy shields to pieces, shredded them with raw strength. Drained his jewels almost to breaking.

Raised his blade at the wrong angle, adjusted, then charged forward and saw as his foes moved toward Lirinne instead.

He didn't know what the hiss of air meant until he saw the feathers in Loucon’s throat. The gray goose feathers the landen used to fletch their arrows.

Even the sound of the river was washed away.

Lirinne set her hand on his arm and then continued forward. He lowered his blade, and the world began again as she snuffed out any hint of life left in Loucon with her own power. Let the darkness take him.

Theldrin moved to her left, swallowed down the killing urge as he kept his blade readied.

“Well,” Lirinne said, her voice raised again toward all those warlords who’d hesitated before the field of battle. “Let’s discuss your surrender.”

#### Indalene

* * *

The household was slowly coming back together when they returned. The cook’s apprentice was now the cook in full, and had prepared what was near a feast from all the ratios they’d pieced together. The priestess was waiting for them in the front hall.

“It’s done then,” Adette said. “For now.”

“For now,” Indalene said. “I know you’ll have a lot of Blood matters to attend to, but before you get to that I need to talk with my sister.”

Adette bowed her head and started off in the direction of the guest rooms.

“What is it?” Lirinne blinked twice, too slowly. The same way she once had when she’d spent half a night providing witchlight for weaving, lit up those few hours where the Blood paid no attention to the village.

“I wanted to show you the tapestry.” Indalene still felt pride in the sight of it, the vibrant colors from dyes drawn from the sea and land, a few shipped in from other realms in ways that would hopefully recover given time. She ran her hands over the diamond pattern of the border, the lines of trees and water, the stylized patterns of landen homes with hills in the distance. It was a guarded depiction still, and yet.

The landen had never been able to afford foolishness. And their work in these matters was chosen carefully, with no Craft to ease the creation of it. Indalene’s skills were not given to cloth, but she’d watched as thead was spun and dyed the threads nonetheless.

“There’s another meaning to it, then. A detail the Blood never needed to know.” Lirinne stepped forward and rested her palm against the wall.

Indalene pointed to a line of silver that ran along the bottom edge of the tapestry. “They don’t need to keep track of how the courts treat landen. Or don’t. You know how long the time was where we just hoped to be ignored.”

“We don’t need to be ignored now,” Lirinne said. “Any of us. Not with how that storm changed things.”

Indalene nodded. It would have been a hard thing to believe from anyone else. But from Lirinne it was, if not easy, then at least believable. The Blood did seem to listen to their queens in a way she’d never quite understood.

“I’ll have time to teach Theldrin the bow, then. And not just so you can watch him practice.” She elbowed Lirinne, gently teasing.

“After that shot you made, I think he’s even excited. And,” Lirinne looked over at the front door as if she was looking beyond it, perhaps to mainland Terreille, perhaps far further to the other realms the Blood sometimes spoke of. “And if this is going to work then we’re all going to need to learn from each other.”

“Does that mean you’re taking up archery?”

“Not yet.”

#### Theldrin

* * *

The winds had quieted over the last few days, the remnants of the storm fading as life moved back toward the seasons where they could visit the rest of the Realms. Already there were pale leaves regrowing on the flowering plants that surrounded the house, a few buds sprouting in deep red.

Theldrin wore a black shirt embroidered with fruit-heavy grapevines that Rensyr had found for him. Given what he’d seen of their process it must have taken the landen months to make it. Something to remember for when he’d have to trade with them for more.

An easier thought than the further reports from the mainland. Of courts as devastated as theirs or more. And yet also the confirmation that Terreille was no longer under the corrupt sway of Hayll and its High Priestess. Whispers of Ebon Askavi, and powers that had burned themselves out to cleanse the land. 

One such storm had proven more than enough for him.

He smiled as Lirinne emerged from the house, and he offered his arm quickly, lest he lapse into a daze just at watching her. This night, her dress was dyed the deep green of the forest trees, and the bracelet on her wrist echoed thorns in its design. A net glimmered over her hair, decorated it with gold and hints of violet.

He stayed as close as he could as they moved.

Behind the house, on the nearest side to the forest, was set a rotunda of stone. Stained black with blood, fire, and craft over so many years. By all the courts that had once held sway here.

A fire already burned in the center of the stone, flames flickering up to cast shadows on all the Blood assembled around it. Adette stood closest to the flames, and held a knife readied in her hands.

Lirinne let go of his arm to approach the priestess, and Theldrin joined Rensyr and Nyend around the fire. The three of them had formed a triangle around it, around Lirinne, a symbol of the positions they would claim.

He heard the way Lirinne’s breath caught when she pricked her hand with the knife, the hiss of the fire as she cast that blood upon it. “You have come to swear your oaths in the sight of the Darkness. Let the Queen’s Triangle set the example for the others of the Circle to follow.”

That was his cue. He felt the heat of the fire reflected in his own chest, burning away any doubts, any fear of judgments to come.

“Loucon was a fool in so many ways,” he said, and waited until Lirinne stepped around the fire to reach him, to press her bloodied thumb against his hand. “But even he knew the honor of service to a queen, and it is a greater thing to aid one who brings the land together as she ought. I will be your consort as long as you will have me.”

He knelt, kissed her hand, and remained kneeling as all of them made their oaths. There would be a second circle soon, a coven to establish, perhaps young queens visiting to learn the arts of running a court.

They’d rebuild their world. Find trade and laughter, sweet-smelling candles paid for in grapes and dark wood. Sink blood and roots sank into the ground alike, see everything made old and new in turn. A world decorated with mouldings carved by landen hands, glass blown by craft, fish caught in the seas served along fresh greens from the kitchen gardens. Days spent honing his strength with the bow.

Mornings started with apple jam and kisses.


End file.
